


The Stevelets

by BairnSidhe



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Yes it's crack, became something else, started as ficlet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:49:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BairnSidhe/pseuds/BairnSidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Upon a Time, Very Bad People used the blood of Steve Rogers to try to grow super soldiers.  What they got were eight sickly, scrappy, uncooperative Irish shite-kickers.  The introduction of the Asset to their training...backfired.  Now, with only scraps of memory to guide him, the Soldier is going to find his boys and save them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Extraction

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a picture drawn by bluandorange on tumblr of eight mini-Steebs.

The Soldier (Bucky?) turns a corner in the facility.  He may not recall the man on the bridge (Steve?) but he remembers that his handlers are not to be trusted, are evil, must die.  He’s the one choosing missions now, and some part of him, black with fury and rage, guided him to this place with the need to burn it to the ground.  But not yet.

There’s something (someone?) he needs to find, if they’re here.  (Yes, someones.  Smiles like the sun, or was that in another place?)  He races, drawing a bead on a bald man in a lab coat.  Lab Coat doesn’t even get out a scream before his head explodes in the red mist that comes from a high caliber hollow-point.  The door he was standing in front of is now clear.  The Soldier kicks the door down and promptly doubles over in agony as a skinny foot executes a perfect side kick into his crotch.

“Fuuuuuuuck.”

“Oh shit.”

“One?  Did’ya get him?”

“Crap.  Four, get the others, Trip, Twooie, help me with him.”

“Unca?”  Trip was really too old for the nickname, the thing whispered in secret, but it sometimes brought their Uncle back when his eyes went hard and cold.

“You’ve been practicing the side kicks, kidlet.”

“Had to, they were going to find out about Five’s hearing soon, and I’m not letting them take him away.”

“Five?  There are FIVE of you now?”

“Eight, but Eight’s just a baby.”  Twooie wrapped his arms around his Uncle’s legs.

“I only remember three, you three…Is, is that wrong?  I’m getting things back, but it’s slow and patchy.”

“Four was only a baby when they took you away.  He doesn’t really remember you.  We tell them, all of them, about you, but….”

“It’s ok.  We’re leaving and the others can get to know me later.

The other five children were there, Four protectively spreading thin arms out in front of them, as if he could keep his brothers safe with only his small body.  One grabbed a baby out of his fifth-born sibling’s arms and handed Eight to Toowie.  Twooie was really the only person who could keep Eight from crying reliably.  Trip scooped up Sev onto his back and turned back to his Uncle.  “This is Uncle.  He’s come to take us away from here.”

“Where’s your stuff, medicine, clothes, etc.?”

“I got it,” Four replied, turning to show a backpack.  “One wouldn’t have said to get the others unless we were running for it.”

“Good, then we’re going.  I’m on point, One, take rear guard.  Everybody else, stay between us.”

The extraction was smooth, seamless.  The kids were trained in silence and swiftness, physical training for them as soon as they could walk.  Once out of the base, he stopped them within sightlines, but out of blast range and watched the looks of victory on their faces, lit by the explosion and the flames.  His boys, even the ones he hadn’t met yet.  He let them watch a little longer, then they moved out.


	2. Chapter 2

The motel manager had a funny look on his face when Uncle got them two adjoining rooms.  Maybe it was that it was really late, maybe it was that Trip didn’t look anything like Uncle, so maybe he doubted that they were related.  But probably it was that the others were all hiding in the parking lot and why would a man get two rooms just for two people.  Whatever it was, they got keys and swiftly got all the brothers and Uncle into the rooms behind closed doors. Sev let out a wet sigh as the doors locked.  He’d never been outside and the open spaces were intimidating.  Six wrapped arms around him and he calmed down.  Six was good at that.

Uncle used the room phone to order food.  One insisted everyone wash up before it got there.  They had enough problems getting sick without inviting germs to the dinner table.  They were a solemn group sitting on one bed, drawing comfort from closeness, when the food arrived.  White paper cartons with red drawings of…something, on the sides.  Uncle opened them, passed out forks, and let the brothers taste everything to decide what they liked.  He only ate the sticky white grains…rice, Trip remembered. 

It was a long ago memory, one from when Uncle lived with them.  The men in lab coats felt that One was getting too aggressive, non-compliant.  The solution had been Uncle.  He came in for three days every week, lived with them and taught them.  He was a better teacher than the others.  He never hit them for failing; he explained slowly, he knew how to adapt for color blindness and the dizziness that sometimes affected them.  But mostly, he talked to them.  He told them stories at night and kissed their foreheads and gave them secrets.  Secrets like his nickname.  To other adults he was the Asset, or the Soldier.  To One and Twooie and Trip he was Uncle.  Sometimes he’d try to say another name, a pause after he referred to himself as Uncle, a waiting for another name.  But he was always Uncle.

He gave them names too.  One liked being One.  He said it felt like completeness.  But Two, before he was Twooie, had hated the number he was given.  Twooie was better.  Trip liked being Trip better than being Three.  Four had been too young to need a name, and after Uncle was gone, knowing names dried up.  Only they would use them, and it seemed pointless.  Seven was born the month before they had One kill for the first time.  After that, One needed to feel like he could do good.  Giving Seven a name, calling the little wailing form Sev made him feel better.  Like he could maybe do for his brothers what Uncle had done for him.

After eating, a novel experience, with new flavors and textures and nobody saying to eat less or eat more, they curled up to sleep, two to a bed.  Uncle tucked the sheets in around them, kissed their foreheads and said good night.

At some point, Twooie cracked open an eye to check on Eight, sleeping beside him, and saw Uncle by the window with a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, and a burner phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

“This message is for Steven Grant Rogers.  I need his help.  I’m in Canada, Manitoba, Waskada.  The Golden Moose motor lodge.  I can’t do this alone.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting of the eldest three boys reveals hidden hurts.

The next day, Twooie pulled One and Trip aside.  He told them about the middle of the night phone call.  It was clear it would impact all of them and the three eldest of them needed to decide what to do about it, before it became a problem.

“Steven Rogers?” One said.  “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the name.  But can he really be that bad if Uncle trusts him?”

“Uncle isn’t always…himself.  And doing it in the middle of the night indicates he’s trying to hide it, because we won’t like the end result.”

“Actually, wait a sec.  Steven Grant Rogers….  He’s an enemy of Hydra.  I remember in the education session, once, they mentioned him as a terrible enemy….”  Trip’s voice trailed off.  Trip had gone through the most “education”, because he was always asking why, or what did the enemy do that was so bad.  Trip needed to know what he did was right.  So if he asked too many questions, he got sent to the bare concrete room where loud music, military marches, mostly, played non-stop and a voice on a loud speaker described the dangers of the enemies of Hydra.  Sometimes they hosed him down first and the room was always freezing.

“If he’s an enemy of Hydra, then he might be ok.”  One’s keen analytical mind rushed with activity.  “We give him a chance.  Two days.  He has forty eight hours to prove himself one way or the other.  If we see something we don’t like, we run.  We’ll utilize plan beta forty three gamma, unless we’re mobile, then we use delta sixty.  You know your parts.”

“What about Uncle?”  Twooie fought the tremor in his voice that crept up.  “Delta sixty has no room for a full grown adult in the escape.”

“If there’s something bad enough that we feel the need to have everybody make a break for it before the transportation stops moving, then either Uncle will be engaged or he’ll be compromised and we’ll need to leave him behind anyway.”

“One…”

“No, Trip, we need to be clear on this.  If there is a threat inherent in what Uncle is doing, then he isn’t being Uncle.  We’re responsible for the younger ones.  What if this Steven Rogers wants to kill Five because he’s mostly deaf?  What if he decides that Six is too weak to take with us because of the coughs?  Or Sev because of the spine curvature that makes it hard to run?  Eight’s only a baby, what if this guy doesn’t like babies and wants to get rid of him?”

“He wouldn’t.”  Trip glared at his older brother.  “The re-education was very explicit that Steven Rogers encouraged weakness and was to be fought because he would make everybody weak by saying things about how weak people should be let live.  His section of re-education was one of the reasons I pushed so hard, before Uncle.”

“Still, we know next to nothing about him.  Other than the stuff Hydra told us, which, most of what they told us was crap.  So we need to have exit strategies.”

“Yeah, but can’t we have an exit strategy that works for an adult too?”

“Dammit Twooie!”

“You just don’t like having him back.  You liked being the boss and now we want him to be the boss again and you’re jealous.  So you want to get rid of him.”

“He left us!  He _left_ us.  He left when Four was a baby and Five hadn’t been born yet.  Four has next to no memories of him.  He only means anything to the three of us, and I don’t see why you are so keen to keep him around when he left _us_.”

“He didn’t…” Twooie stammered.  ”He didn’t leave on purpose.”

“What?”

“I heard some of the watchers talking about it.  They took him away because he was showing signs of compassion in the field.  Because he failed to kill a kid.  A kid who they said looked like us.  He loves us.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us, Twooie?”  Trip frowned.

“Because at the time, One was angry and you were sad and I didn’t want to hurt you more.  But Uncle loves us and he would never give us to a bad person.  And we aren’t using delta sixty, we’re using lambda ought four.”

“Agreed.”  Trip looked at One.  “We don’t like out voting you, but we will if we have to.”

“Fine.  Lambda ought four it is.”


End file.
